Little Red
by Snarky
Summary: A certain Shinigami is felling bereft one night, then while on the job comes across a brilliant idea to solve all his boredom and loneliness. Thus an unsuspecting world is introduced to a rather odd turn on its head. rated for just in case, contains Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: this is a fic that will be mainly based in the hp-verse with some of the characters from the show in it. Chaps will get longer further in. updates will be sporadic.

Warnings: Slash, het, femslash, threesome, twincest, threesome, moresome, cross dressing. There won't be any big details sex-wise as I will be keeping to the guidelines of the site.

Pairings: Grell/?, HP (when he's way older)/?, (more pairings later).

Little Red

Chapter 1: His Shinigami, The Lonely.

Grell had to admit, he never had much luck with men.

It had taken him centuries and many of his beloved's delicious looking, though firmly shod in polished shod feet into his glorious face (which proved to be such by remaining perfect after such callous treatment) before Grell was finally forced to give up on the demon.

He had tried going after Faust, but that delicious number had also escaped his clutches.

Grell humphed as he strode up the normal mortal street of the perfectly normal suburb in some slip of wherever. He didn't care. He was moody, depressed, and felt entirely lonely.

How was a sexy shinigami like him to contend with immortality without someone to liven things up?

Even all the delicious little bloodletters in the world were not enough to dispel his boredom.

He felt like he was missing something from his life, something important, something meaningful, something that would worship him with a big yummy red heart.

At this point, he was beginning to wonder if finding himself an eternal, well hung hubbywho would look divine in blood, especially in bed, was not what he needed after all.

Maybe he should take up scrapbooking…

Grell was brought out of his internal musings by a faint, soft coo.

He looked down.

Ah, his next appointment.

He opened the little red notebook, adjusting his stylish red shinigami glasses, and red the information that appeared.

_Harry James Potter, 1 year, 3 months, 6 hours._

_Death of exposure._

Grell looked down at the little bundle on the door step. He snapped his book closed.

"Really, leaving a child on the doorstep, how terribly cliché" he pulled out his trusty chain saw scythe revving it up and raising it above his head.

It was the tremulous "momma?" that made him pause.

He lowered the scythe curiously.

The infant, he had to admit, was cute, messy black hair, porclien white skin, pouty lips and, he couldn't help being delighted, eyes nearly the same shade as his own.

The baby giggled and raised little fists towards him as he bent closer, getting a better look, and actually grabbed onto his hair, purring and cooing "momma!" the baby reaffirmed, then "pretty momma." That's when the enfant began to nuzzle his hair, a little weakly, as the child was close to death after all.

Grell was delighted.

"Why yes, I am pretty aren't I?" he preened, "why my hair is the envy of all shinigamis really, I think that they are just jealous that I look so much more divine then they are, that's why I get so much flack…"

His voice trailed off as he registered the other word the enfant had used, Momma.

He had to admit, as he thought longer on it, especially given his thoughts that he had earlier about needing something in his life…he had to admit he was rather tickled by the idea that was unfolding in his mind, after all, it wasn't like it was totally against the rules, really, there wasn't really one for it, probably because no one had thought of it before, so even if it was found it wouldn't get him into any un-fun trouble…oh, and the mortals certainly didn't seem to want him.

Grell felt a grin spread across his face, sharp pointed teeth gleaming in the moonlight as he clapped his hands delightedly. Why it was rather brilliant! He clapped his hands delightedly.

Just think of all the things he would be able to do! It would be so much fun!

He picked the boy up; further delighted when the boy cuddled up to his chest, looking confused a moment by the lack of feminine cushion, but settled with another contended "momma."

With a wave of his hand, and a dramatic flair of his red coat, he disappeared into the dark nether, leaving an empty basket and a letter that eventually blew away in a stiff breeze.


	2. Chapter 2: His Shinigami, the Parent

Authors note: I am glad that you all are enjoying the fic. The next chap or two will be some shots from Harry's childhood.

Warnings: Slash, het, femslash, threesome, twincest, threesome, moresome, cross dressing. There won't be any big details sex-wise as I will be keeping to the guidelines of the site.

Pairings: Grell/?, HP (when he's way older)/?, (more pairings later).

Little Red

Chapter 2: His Shinigami, the Parent.

"_Margret, I can't take it anymore! I must have you!"_

_A large sultry man with a sweating chest and eye patch, with messy curly hair grabbed the pixyish blond women by the arms, slamming her against said sweaty chest, squashing large pert breasts against rock hard abs._

"_But Nero, I can't! I just can't!" the woman sobs, "I am to marry your father!" she struggles futile in the man's arms._

_His grip tightens and he growls "I can't let you make the biggest mistake of your life, my life! He's just in it for your money! I am yours because I love you for you!"_

_The women sobs, struggles becoming weak until she leans against him._

"_But…but I am pregnant with his baby!"_

"_It's not his, it was mine all along."_

"_What!? But…but that night at the rotunda, I got drunk, it was dark but…"_

"_Yes, it was me, but I was too much of a coward to admit it, since I was dating your sister, but since she was cheating on me with that Mad Doctor, Rachael, I have since realize that there is nothing in this world that matters to me anymore then you and our baby."_

"_Oh Nero!..."_

"Oh Nero!" Grell sobbed, a red velvet hanky dotting at his eyes as he finally turned off the TV, sniffling, it was only a year ago when I was hating you for cheating on Margret's sister, oh I could eat your skin, you scrumptious man you!" Grell let out a toothsome smile before turning off the T.V, making a mental note to show the taped episode later that evening for his son's nightly bedtime story just as the door opened to his bedroom.

A streak of wild raven curls, laughing large green emerald eyes and snow white skin leaped onto Grell's Egyption ruby silk sheets and crimson Arcumantula silk comforters filled with Augury down.

"Mama! Mama! Guess what day it is today Mama!" the little boy yipped happily, wiggling with delight on his mama's lap, practically vibrating with excitement.

Grell smiled at his little one. It was hard to believe that it was only 4 years ago that his little bundle of joy had come into his world!

Being a mother was certainly a lot of work to! He often ahd to balance his work as a shinigami with being a single parent (oh woe is him! Still not finding the right hubby out there!) but Hadrian had been his little pride and joy, his beautiful child, who would grow to be as beautiful as him someday, what with those little raven curls and those big eyes that had long ago fully become veteran to the puppy eyed look, quivering bow lips and all.

He liked to think that Hadrian had had his eyes and complextion and beauty. He had long since nearly forgotten that he had found the boy on a stoop, ready to be reaped.

Oh well.

"And what is so special about today my little hell's spawn?" Grell cooed, grinning and attacking the boy with tickles, making the boy shriek with giggles.

"It's my birthday today mama!" the boy finally reminded his absentminded parent scolding, pouting slightly after collapsing from the ticklefest.

"that's right!" Grell gasped in mock shock, lifting his delighted son in the air and began swirling him around in a parody of a dance, "my little man is turning 5 today! Why, we have to do something special for such a big boy today!"

The happy little boy was sat down in front of his mother's rather mind boggling (for anyone outside of the family anyway) vanity, with large mirror that displayed Grell's many perfections at multiple angles and the polished red mahogany top covered in various colourful bottles, brushes, combs and other paraphernalia.

Hadrian got comfortable, watching his parent in fascination, as he always did, while his mother combed, powdered, glittered, shadowed, and shined this and that.

Grell had decided on an updue with two single braids on either side with a simple, though fabulous outfit of silk white peasent shirt, crimson vest and maroon cotton bell bottoms with gold chains encrusted with rubies drapped along his narrow hips, and crimson open toed platforms showing off his latest petacure of each perfectly proportioned toe.

"Well, my little love wher shall we go first?"

"the salon! The salon!" the boy piped excitedly, "and then can we goto Harrods? Oh! Oh! and then visit uncle Undertaker?he said that he has a special present for me and…."

Grell felt a tear come to his eye. His little boy wanted to get to go to the salon and buy new cloths, he was so proud!

"as my little death prince wishes, so shall it be!"

In a flurry of red silk and tiny shoes, he had his little Hadrian already for their big day, with the little boy looking adorable in a wine red jumper, charcoal shorts, and shiny buckle shoes with his wild hair pulled up into two cute pigtails with red velvet bows.

And off they left Grell's luxurious beach front flat he had acquired after he had become a parent, knowing that other realm homes wouldn't be the best environment for his little one until he was much older.

Really, the higher echelon's in the shinigami organization were rather harsh at first, when he requested maternity leave, but after showing off his little bundle of joy proudly, they had suddenly changed their minds, but had insisted that the boy be reared in the mortal realm. The council could be so backwards sometimes! It wasn't like his little Hadrian was an ordinary mortal after all, he was _his_ son, and that made him leagues above mere mortals, or those other immortal creatures out there!

He was a Surcliffe, and all Surcliffes were special.

Besides, it was only a matter of time that he dealt with his child's mortal handicap, then he would be perfection incarnate, just like his mama.

Ooo ooo ooo

_2 years later…_

"Mama! Mama! Guest what?"

Grell paused in his polishing of his favorite chainsaw scythe as he turned to 7 year old Hadrian.

Grell's hair was in curlers and his face wore a mud mask.

His son, who had just been dropped off by Landora Miguel, an old opera singer who had retired with her fourth husband and seven champion _chihuahua__s_ and often took Hadrian to mortal school (the council had insisted that if Grell was going to rear a mortal, he should at least make sure he was properly educated) was holding out a tiny ball of rusty red feathery fluff.

Big watery dark chocolate eyes stared up at Grell, matching the big green eyes of his son.

"What did I say about asking before bring home strange things?" Grell scolded sternly.

His son hung his head and toed the angora shag carpet contritely.

"I'm sorry mama, but when Marmalade had more puppies then Mrs. Miguel expected, she said I could have one as a belated birthday gift, since she missed mine last month when she was in Cancoon with Mr. Gary…"

"That's husband number 3 Hadrian, husband four is Mr. Morton," Grell corrected stiffly.

"I really am sorry, I'll remember next time, I promise" the little boy sniffed.

Seeing that his boy had been responsibly chastened, Grell's severe expression melted away to be replaced by a delighted squeal.

The ball of fluff suddenly disappeared from Hadrian's hands and was hugged to Grells Magenta nightie. The pup let out a strangled yip as Grell twirled around in paraxoms of gaiety.

"Oh he's such a darling! Of course we'll keep him!"

"I thought I would name him Sebastian," the boy happily added, "I like your stories of the butler demon."

Grell felt his heart swell and his bottom lip tremble, then pulled his patient son into his arm, twirling him along with the rather traumatized canine by this point "oh my little Harri_chan_! I have the most perfect boy in the world."

Hadrian merely laughed delightedly, hugging his mama around the neck.

Ooo ooo oooo


	3. Chapter 3: His Shinigami, the Neglectful

Authors note: I have finally decided on who I am pairing Grell with, but I won't be revealing that until later in the fic. As for hp, I have a bit of an idea, but I am not quite committed to it yet.

Warnings: Slash, het, femslash, threesome, twincest, threesome, moresome, cross dressing. There won't be any big details sex-wise as I will be keeping to the guidelines of the site.

Pairings: Grell/?, HP (when he's way older)/?, (more pairings later).

Little Red

Chapter 3: His Shinigami, the Neglectful.

Another day, another- well, he wasn't being paid per say, but he did get enough perks from the job here and there, combined with being an eons old pack rat had left him somewhat well off. He had also amassed a few fortunes posing as a butler for old blood families that didn't see any heirs, and was left to him a fortune once in a while for his great surface. After all, a beauty such as him must have a little fun or else it would give him wrinkles.

Grell supposed then the better saying would be: another day another delicious blood spill, and another flirt-fest with William, his old partner from the final days of his training…oh! Those days still give him the shivers!

His 8 year old darling looked up from his summer reading homework, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Oh my darling! I dread these partings, such sweet sorrow that they would make this vulnerable, trembling delicate rose forced from the bosom of the vine to be left hanging from the precipice of an unfeeling suit jacket…"

"Mum…" Harry sighed, but put away his homework and walked up to his mother and wrapped his arms around the trailing blood red coat that his mother often referred to as "being draped in red." Harry remembered the story of Madame Red, his mother still admired the women despite the later disappointment, though Grell admitted that now being a mother himself, he had come to understand something of the human desire not to kill their children, especially out of boredom. He still bore the condescending attitude towards mortals, but had mellowed a bit over time as he found greater and greater amusements with them then was found in other realms.

Harry of course, was not so much the exception, but the one quivering special gem found discarded in the refuse of mortality that would one day be completely free of such a handicap.

His mother had been ecstatic when it had turned out that his little Harrichan was near sighted, and had outfitted Harry with the best glasses that money and fashion could produce from the other realms, though it had taken quite some convincing for Pops (1) to agree to it. Grell still giggled sometimes thinking about it.

They were similar to his mothers, but his were ebony black with little black roses on the trailing granny chain that would grow to adjust in size and prescription as Harry grew older.

His mother was currently dressed in the standard uniform, for Grell that is, he absolutely abhorred the stiff regulation, bland assemble that was the standard black suit of the Shinigami. Grell had designed himself his own masterpiece of course, and only he made it fabulous and never out of style. Shark-like teeth polished to a shine, and red-framed, hexagonal glasses which are accessorized with a neck chain containing skulls. His typical attire consisted of a suit, gloves, bow tie, and high-heeled burgundy ankle boots.

"You'll have to go yet again go to…to…that man's place, he is…*sniff* awaiting your arrival, I packed you a lunch, it's in your suitcase, and…and *sniff* Sebby-chan's suitcase is packed as well…and…"

Grell's tearful rambling was cut off by the tiny delicate tip of his son's finger pressed against his lip-glossed mouth. The boy knew that Grell tended to over dramatize (dramatic under-statement) and often worked himself up into a tither whenever he had to leave on long oversea's assignments or long stretches of helping to train the new recruits that lasted him longer than a day, thereby sending him to his uncle Undertaker's place. The boy knew that Grell always worried and fussed that he was being a bad mother leaving him alone so often for work.

But Harry never complained, he understood Grell's shinigami duties, it was part of his nature after all, and he a boy who never once called Grell a mother Henning drama queen or ridiculous for his needless worries (something that his co-workers often accused Grell of, though at least Ronald had taken him to a few parties afterwards to unwind).

The boy just gave the tearful redhead a brilliant, beautiful smile, kissed his mother on the cheek 10 minutes later and reassured him that everything would be fine, he promised, and that he could call him and check as much as he wanted, and so on, while guiding his sniffling parent to their front door and to the latest impatient taxi driver that would take Harry to Undertaker's place.

One last hug and Grell's little boy was off to the dubious clutches of Undertaker.

Yes, now there was a contentious relationship.

Grell was not overly fond of the creepy retired shinigami, in fact, he considered the man's disdain for death to be somewhat insulting to his profession, and a little unnatural to boot, the man's mind was also decidedly unhinged, and not in that fun way either.

So why subject his little bundle of joy to the madman?

Undertaker had approached him one evening, while he had his Harrichan in his cute little stroller as they perused for muggers to kill so he could introduce his little pride and joy to his favorite colour right from the source, when Undertaker had appeared out of the gloom, pale long hands with long black fingernails pressed over his eyes, giggling and asking him to guess who.

There would have been violence had it not been for the presence of his little Harrichan, who would have been vulnerable in a battle between two neutral immortals, so Grell had only yelled at Undertaker, tried to strangle him, then yelled at him again when his precious was awoken from his nap by the noise.

That was when Undertaker had offered his services as both godfather and babysitter, or at least declared it, right out of the blue.

He had not given a reason, had not asked for a killer joke.

Grell would have refused if he hadn't seen his little Harrichan take one look and give the insane retiree one of his blessed smiles, giggling and cooing at the fixed gazed Undertaker.

That and the few words that Undertaker had uttered under the influence of that innocent smile.

"One day, for the sake of your son, if not everything and everyone else being foisted with the greatest amusement to be had, I must be in his life, by his side."

As much as the man annoyed him, particularly his horrible fashion sense (horrible pedicure!), no matter how knee bendingly, hypnotically dreamy he was under all that silver hair and macabre attire, not to mention his shucking of his very nature as a Shinigami, he had learned long ago that when Undertaker gives advice/information, it was important to be heeded, even when presented to the silver haired man's own enemies.

Grell had grudgingly accepted the man as godfather to his son that very evening.

Though he did get delight in the fact that the man had been forced to change Harrichan's diapers that first time he left his son alone in the man's care.

Grell shook himself from his depression and finally turned to his second greatest love, the beautiful red, red, diviness as the cooly indifferent William awaited him across the street.

Ooo ooo ooo

The room was gloomily dark, lit only by a few old fashioned oil lamps, giving he varnished coffins, the main features of the room, a faint, shadowy warm glow. It would be strangely surreal, mildly creepy surroundings for those few who entered the funeral parlor.

Said building was a rather austere renovated Victorian house that straddled the neighbourhoods between the once rich but still hanging in there, and a small business section that was nothing but fast food places, lawyers, and banks.

It was Grimauld Number 20, also known as _The Resting Place_, funeral parlor for the chic and the cheap.

When Harry entered into this den of macabeness, after paying the dubious looking, but ultimately deciding not to care cabbie his fare, he was faced with the sight of said interior and the body that lay framed therein.

Harry strolled up to the open casket, after letting out Sebby, which lay draped in blue silk, the dark Mahogany wood gleamed dully against the more extravagant golden swirls that edged the sides and double lids. It was a modestly roomy contrivance, and made plump plush with royal blue velvet with tiny gold studs on the inside lids, puckering he cloth in even patterns.

Within was nestled a man, blanketed in white lilies, his hands classically crossed over his chest, his face, half hidden by long silver bangs lay in relaxed repose, the rest of the silver locks fell long and framing the thin lithe figure which was dressed in a dark grey wife beater with two long sleeves and a dusty grey suit with chrome buttons.

The little boy gazed down at the display for a moment, taking in the condition of the body and said solemnly:

"The white lilies were a little much, and I keep telling you need to eat more."

Through the long fringe of silvery hair, two golden eyes popped open, the faintest green gleaming through and stared up at the boy before the body rose majestically stiff, from the coffin bed.

"You really think that the lilies were too much?" the body replied with a pout.

The boy shrugged, depositing his fluffy red back pack inside another coffin beside the door that was there for such purposes.

"A little too harsh with the rest of the coffin, you should have just gone with a single dark coloured lily or a black rose in your hands; it would have brought the entire image off much better."

Harry didn't stick around to watch the body fully emerge from its coffin, still pouting as he made his way out of the coffin section and into the back apartments. He went into the little used kitchen, shaking his head at the obscene amount of dust and the occasional spider that scuttled for safety.

He rolled up the sleeves to his pink Christian Dior sequined neck long sleeve shirt, and tied off the skirt to his little marc Jacobs dotty deer skirt, displaying pink knee high cashmere socks and bright red Equerry stone pumps, which he kicked off out of the way, which were soon followed by his socks as he began the business of getting the kitchen in order.

His mother would faint though, at the sight of his little hell spawn doing something as atrociously mundane, boring, and mortalish as cleaning a kitchen.

Harry had been reared on takeout food and weekly maid service that came in every other day to clean their apartments, usually while the two of them were out, Grell working and Harry at school.

However, Harry had stayed home one day with a cold and, his mother got called away on an unexpected upsurge of reaping in the Baltics, and Harry was left in the care of the maid service. Harry had fun watching the cleaners going about their business, and had even watched one of them make him a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, with tomato soup. He had since loved the simple fare, much to his mother's horror (though he approved of the soup at least) and had marveled at how the cleaners could morph a messy environment into something so orderly and clean.

From then on, he watched people cleaning when he could, and had even tried it out a time or to outside of his mother's range. He had found that while hard, it was rather satisfying on the whole, and gave him a sense of satisfaction, claiming, and connection with his environment that he'd not had before.

The most fun and satisfaction he had in this quarter was doing that of cooking.

He loved cooking shows, again to his mother's horror, (though he approved of those that had specials on preparing bloody hunks of various meats with various sharp implements and thought themeducational for purposes other than cooking), so whenever he visited Undertaker, he often practiced in the man's gloomy old kitchen.

On the whole, Shinigami's didn't really need to eat as much as mortals, but they still could benefit from eating, enjoying tastes, and even gain weight, and be relatively healthier for it, they just couldn't starve to death. Undertaker was one of those Shinigami (despite being retired) that didn't really bother on the whole. He only kept food around for Harry, or ordered in. that is, when he remembered to while wrapped up with his clients and other projects.

While Harry cleaned, he set about calling the local grocer and ordering in supplies, the money lying in wait on the key table by the front door.

He paused in his cooking when long arms wrapped around his body, pulling him against a surprisingly clean, thin torso.

"Little Prince, always bustling about, so delightfully full of delicious life, and trying to drag me into that dismal state," Undertaker purred, nuzzling the boys slightly sweaty dust and cobweb covered locks.

Harry didn't even bother to squirm; he was rather resigned to being cuddled. He was, after all, Grell's son. This was a state that he was long accustomed to.

Instead, he turned in the man's grasp and shook his finger in the half shrouded face, which bore a contented smile.

"You've been neglecting the kitchen, and yourself again," Harry scolded, his little face scrunched up cutely in disproval, "look at how peaky you are! It will take me ages to make you put on the lost stone you lost."

"Well, I don't see why it is necessary; after all, the dead do not bother with such trifles as clean kitchens and satisfying meals, the dears." Undertaker hummed, beginning to sway his hips back and forth, as if listening to some tune only he could hear. Then he leaned forward, a sudden manic light gleaming through the fringe as he crooned "Have you brought your dear bored uncy Undertaker a joke this day? Are you going to gift me a laugh? A snicker? Even a tiny giggle?"

The boy turned his pert little nose up, folding his arms and replying "I don't think I should really, after the way you neglected things, especially when you would have sensed I was coming ages ago. You didn't even bother to try to hide your neglectful ways from me this time."

The man gave a pitiful meu "but I had so many orders to fill, and I came up with such lovely designs, plus my latest clients were in rather stunning conditions, I just had to…"

"No! that's no excuse!" the boy cut him off with disproval dripping from his voice, "you knew I was coming, you always know when I am coming" it was left unsaid that Undertaker had an almost precognitive way of knowing things, though it was hard to say whether it was more "all the way" and less "almost" in that quarter.

Then the little boys scolding turned into trembling lips as he hopped up and wrapped his arms around the man's neck.

"I love you Undertaker, and I just want you to be healthy and well taken care of. I don't want you to be neglectful of yourself, I want you to be healthy because you don't deserve to be neglected in anyway, even if you're the one doing the neglecting, you're my bestest friend."

Undertakers face softened slightly into one of those rare non-creepy smiles and carried the boy to a chair, sitting down and holding him in his lap, idly playing with the boys hair again.

"I had no idea that you were so bothered by my habits, Little Prince."

The boy buried his face in the man's shoulder, smelling the familiar sent of varnish, lavender and dust.

"Of course it bothers me. You get so lost in your work, and you get so bored with the mortals world, that I worry about you" the boy said this as if this shouldn't be news to him.

The soft smile suddenly morphed into a sly wheedling look, "so you won't leave me without what few entertainments will relieve me of my sorry state would you?"

Harry gave a put upon sigh, shaking his head. Undertaker had him there.

Having been outmaneuvered, per usual, Harry finally acquaintanced and told Undertaker the joke he had been saving for him.

The man was still bent over the table laughing when Harry skipped to the door to pay for the delivery.

Ooo ooo ooo

A/n: (1) Pops is the director of the glasses department at Shinigami headquarters named Lawrence Anderson.

The clothing references were pulled from the Harrod's website and Grell's taken from the Kuroshitsuji wiki site.

Williaim T. Spears is another Shinigami that Grell also has a thing for, they were once partners. You can see it in the episode that was William T. Spear's story.

Ronald, or Ronald Knox, is sometimes a lackey for either William or Grell, who is a laid back party boy.


End file.
